


Sleeping With Ghosts

by kaijuuchan



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: AU, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, apocalyptic verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 09:08:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijuuchan/pseuds/kaijuuchan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world was a desiccated husk of what it had once been.  What remained of humanity thrived on the whispered rumors of a place known only as Sanctuary. A place where they could attempt the semblance of a normal life. But it's location was hidden in shadow. In whispers. Deep in the heart of New York...deep in the heart of alien territory. </p>
<p>The heroes of the New  York Incident had saved thousands of lives, but at a cost. Most had disappeared, or were presumed lost to the destruction. </p>
<p>Where were they? What were they doing? Would any of it end?<br/>--------------------------------------<br/>Avengers [ Alternate Universe ]<br/>Rated M for graphic violence and potential future smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1 - Glimpse

The world was a desiccated husk of what it had once been. Buildings that had once touched the sky with their glimmering walls of glass and metal now stood crumbled, the metal twisted, shards of glass glinting from the edge of the metal. What had once been a bustling city of millions living out their daily lives was now nothing but crumbling ruins and the silence of the dead.

The end had come swiftly, with hordes of spindly-limbed creatures over-running the major cities of the world within days. Within weeks, the resistance had fought as their cities crumbled and millions died. Within months, the last of humanity had been driven into small pockets underground. Now, a year later, the tattered remains of the resistance survived only in their ability to keep from being discovered.

Oh, humanity had fought, and had fought well.  The heroes of the New York Incident had saved thousands of lives, but at a cost. Most had disappeared, or were presumed lost to the destruction. Rumors of a Sanctuary deep below New York filled the ears of humans hopeful for peace and the semblance of a normal life, but getting there was near impossible. New York was the center of the Spidder infestation...the beginning of the end of the world.

Silence was broken by the unearthly, howling screech of a creature skittering down a rubble-strewn street. The man slipped into a dark alley,  his eyes studying the darkness for any sign of the creature that followed him.  An arrow was nocked and ready, the tip blackened and razor-sharp.  The scream of the Spidder drew closer, and the man drew his bow, muscles flexing as his eyes remained fixed on the small point of light that was the entry to the alleyway. 

His booted foot slid two inches to the right, glass crunching beneath his foot at the movement, the sound too loud in the nearly-silent alleyway.  The skittering of the creature drew closer, and then stopped. A face peered around the corner of the building, six pairs of eyes blinking in sequence above a gaping maw filled with needle-like teeth that dripped with near-black saliva.  The creature snarled,  and began to move into the alleyway, carried by a multitude of spindly legs ridged with black, glimmering bone.  

The man's foot shifted another inch, pressing a carefully-concealed trigger,  and foot-long shards of glass along with brick and metal and stone collapsed on the back of the Spidder as the trap was sprung. The man exhaled, releasing the arrow and drawing another as the first arrow hissed through the air, sinking deep into one of the creatures eyes.  

It screamed. Not the howling scream of a creature bent on devouring him, but the scream of a frightened human being.  It bled, sickly red fluid dripping from the ruin of the creature's face, and the man's second arrow sank deeply into a second eye, silencing the piteous cries of the Spidder.

It had been human once.  But he couldn't think on it. Couldn't focus on what the creature had been. Killing it had been a mercy. A necessary thing.  It wasn't the first time he'd killed, nor would it be the last.  

Clint's world was dying. Cut off from the rest of the universe  by a web of inky-black filaments that surrounded the earth, darkening the sky and blocking out the heat of the sun.

His world was cold and full of death. 

He sighed, turning and lifting the duffel bag he'd stashed behind a pile of rubble before shouldering it and setting off  at a jog, weaving through the streets. His boots left hardly a print on the ash and shattered glass that covered the ground in a murky film, but he moved in near-silence, bow in hand. There had been less Spidder activity the last week, and his circuit of the city was nearly completed. He'd managed to gather a few medical supplies and a few things from a broken-down appliance store that might come in handy, but that particular Spidder had been following him for close to two days.  He was due back in Sanctuary only hours from now, and he could not risk bringing the creature with him.

A glimmer of green caught his eye, drawing Clint from his thoughts. His brows furrowed, and he flattened himself against a wall deep within a shadow, his eyes narrowing as he studied the rubble-strewn street. Green flickered again at the edge of his peripheral vision, and he turned his head, lips pulling into a frown. 

No. It _couldn't_ be.  

He moved silently and as swiftly as possible, keeping to the shadows as he followed the flicker of green that seemed to always be just outside his range of sight. An hour passed, and he'd circled around the edge of what had been Central Park, and then had come to stop at the base of what had once been Stark Tower. 

The tower itself was perhaps the only structure not completely destroyed at the onset of the Spidder's occupation, but it was a skeleton structure now. Only  metal and stone and broken glass remained, the walls scorched by fire and blackened by the tenuous strands created by Spidders as they had moved through the city.

Clint's eyes narrowed. If he was right, this was potentially disastrous.

The tower itself was dangerously close to the center of Spidder territory, and stood almost directly opposite the sickeningly black structure that rose out of the remains of Central Park, the form glinting in the dim, cold light of day. Just looking at the spire made him feel nauseous, and it took all his willpower to look away, and return his attention to Stark Tower...or at least what remained of it.  

Clint moved cautiously, slipping into the entryway of the building. Flickers of memory crossed his thoughts. He remembered how light had glimmered just so on the marble floor, and how JARVIS had greeted him.  Now he was passing through the entryway in uncomfortable silence, the once-beautiful floor blackened and cracked, and a part of it stained dark with what had once been a pool of blood, too large for anyone to have survived bleeding out that much. 

He shook his head and continued into the building, an arrow at the ready as he made his way up the stairs, following the flicker of green as it passed above him.  His heart was pounding in his chest as he came to a stop, eyes widening at what waited before him. 

_Loki_.

The Asgardian stood, facing away from him, green cloak billowing behind him as a breeze swept through the wide opening that had once been a wall of windows. The ruined city was laid out before him, black tendrils of a spider's web crawling out from the Black Spire.  Clint hesitated, and took one step back, cautious to make no sound as he moved. He froze when Loki's head turned slightly.

"I had wondered when you would find me, Barton."  
  



	2. Worry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki is in the ruins of New York. His purpose is unknown, but his presence is a concern for those who still survive.

"I had wondered when you would find me, Barton."  
  
Clint's insides churned with trepidation at the words. Loki knew he was there. Unsurprising, given that Loki was a God.  Or at least, he claimed to be one.  Loki was an Asgardian. Vicious. Dangerous. Extremely deadly.  Even, perhaps, a bit terrifying. Seeing him again brought up all sorts of memories Clint would rather remained in the darker corners of his memories. 

A flicker of cold blue light touched his thoughts, and Clint fought it down, his eyes burning with hate.  His fingers twitched slightly, changing out one of the arrow tips in his quiver as a plan formulated in his mind. He couldn't stay here. Couldn't risk being followed, either. He'd have to make a run for it.  
  
"Kind of hard not to notice you," he said after a moment, his tone even. "You tend to stand out."    
  
Perhaps it was his imagination, but Loki's lips seemed to pull into a slight smile, even though it didn't touch the Asgardian's eyes. Clint didn't want to look at him. Didn't want to look him in the eye, but he made himself do it. He wouldn't show fear. Not here. Not in front of the man who plagued his nightmares.   
  
"Is that so."    
  
Loki's tone was amused, but cold. Clint could feel it radiating off of the man who stood mere feet away from him. He shivered, his eyes narrowing slightly. Loki turned to face him, head tilted slightly as he regarded the human. Clint took another half step back at the movement, and Loki's smirk grew.  
  
"Are you afraid of me, Clint Barton?"  
  
Clint's eyes narrowed. Was he? Afraid of Loki? He frowned. Not afraid of Loki...but afraid of what Loki _could_ do...yes. His eyes glanced at the open window behind Loki, and he steeled himself, mind running through a hundred scenarios before he moved. The arrow he held at the ready was let loose, streaking through the air towards the Asgardian's face as Clint leapt, twisting in the air as he drew another arrow, pulled back on the bow, and let loose the second arrow. Cord hissed through the air, brushing his cheek and leaving an angry red welt that stung as the arrow sank into the wall of the building. He fell, gripping the bow tightly, his muscles prepared for the jolt that would follow the end to his rapid descent from the building.  Ten feet from the ground he released the cord and dropped into a roll, coming to his feet at a run as he wove through the streets, his mind whirling with thoughts.  
  
Why had Loki shown himself now? Had he only just arrived? What purpose did this visit have, if he _had_ just arrived?  How long had Loki been here? Before the Net went up? He had to have been. Nothing had left Earth's atmosphere. Anything or anyone that tried was vaporized in the field generated.   
  
Clint's insides churned at the memory of the brilliant flash of light that had filled the sky.   
  
_Natasha..._  
  
Clint stopped running, his heart pounding in his chest as he peered around the corner of a building. No sign of pursuit.  Relief refused to settle into his chest, and only anxiety remained. Loki's appearance only increased the sense that something was terribly wrong.  Well...more wrong than things already were.  Regardless. Loki was bad, and his appearance only made things worse. He shook his head. The others would need to know of this development.  
  
Clint slipped into an alley, adjusting the bag slung across his back as he moved, eyes searching the darkness around him. The sun was just starting to set, and a chill ran down his spine as the howls started to fill the air. He was running out of time.  The biggest and nastiest of the Spidders usually came out well after dark, but with the scent of blood in the air...it was likely they'd be out right after sundown.    
  
Clint lifted a heavy grating with a soft grunt, wincing at the soreness that pulled at the muscles, and then dropped into a  dark, musky-smelling tunnel. The grate slid back into place with another soft grunt, and then Clint was moving deeper into the maze.  It had been a sewer once, which accounted for the smell. He'd become accustomed to the scent after the first few times.    
  
Some twenty minutes later, he'd gone down a twisting  staircase and through another grating.  Clint stopped in front of a large, blank wall, and shouldered his bow as he bent his head towards the wall.  A soft, blue light filled his eyes for a fraction of a moment, and then there was a soft hiss, and the wall rumbled, sliding to the side.  
  
 _"Welcome back, Agent Barton."_  
  
The voice, with its charismatic tone and British accent, belonged to JARVIS.  Clint sighed, and stepped over the threshold. "I've told you not to call me that. I'm not an agent any more."  
  
 _"My apologies, sir."_  
  
"Where's  Rogers?"  
  
 _"He is in the command center, sir."_  
  
The wall slid closed behind him, and a blue light filled the chamber he was in, the hum of the medical scanner filling his ears and buzzing through his skull. He gritted his teeth, and waited patiently.  It was standard procedure, and he understood the necessity of it, but he didn't have to like it. The scanner made sure no foreign contaminants made it into Sanctuary, but the buzzing that filled his skull always set his teeth on edge.   
  
The light faded, and Clint passed through a second door and into a dimly-lit tunnel. The walls were slightly curved, and faint sounds of dripping water echoed in the distance. The air itself smelled damp, but clean. It was a relief from the dry, acrid scent of the world outside.  A couple of children peered at him from across a walkway, their  small hands wrapped around the metal railings, eyes wide.  He paused, and adjusted the bag slung across his shoulders, a hand slipping into one of the pockets.  He turned, and tossed a small chocolate bar towards the children, the wrapper faded and torn.  The elder child caught the bar, and grinned, eyes glittering with joy. The two of them bent towards each other, fingers prying at the wrapper and baring the chocolate to the air. Soft exclamations of surprise echoed through the tunnel, and Clint's lips twitched into a slight smile.   
  
Clint shook his head, and kept moving,  following the curve of the tunnel wall and then passing through a pair of heavy-looking doors that were propped open with bricks.  A couple of guards straightened, and saluted him as he passed, and Clint resisted the urge to grimace. They treated him like he was some kind of hero, which  just didn't sit right with him. He nodded at them, and continued into a narrow hallway which  then opened into a large, circular room. The holographic display that flickered with tiny points of light and a schematic of the tunnel system that held the entirety of Sanctuary hovered over a smooth, round table in the center of the room.   The pair of figures standing opposite of each other at the display seemed caught up in an argument, the words reaching Clint long before the two noticed him.  
  
"We need to increase the defenses at the southern exit, Stark. We've been lucky to remain unnoticed so far, but there's no guarantee that--"  
  
"I told you already, Cap. I've already taken care of it. There's nothing to worry about."  
  
"Nothing to worry about? So then you've added the turrets I asked for? And in those additional   
sensors you said you'd put in last week?"  
  
"Oh look at that, we have a visitor. Nice to see you again, Barton. Good to know you didn't get bug-ified and all."  
  
"Don't change the subject, Stark. Either you took care of it, or you didn't."  
  
Tony rolled his eyes, tapping his pen against the palm of his hand. "And I already told you it's taken care of. Why do you keep bringing it up? Don't worry about it. See? Bow-boy over there isn't worried about it.  He's not pestering me."  
  
Steve exhaled, running his hands through his hair. "The safety of everyone here is our concern, Stark. When will you--"  
  
Clint's bag hit the floor with a loud thud. "Are you two done arguing? There are bigger concerns right now." His tone was sharp, and the pair opposite of him fell silent. He exhaled slowly, folding his arms across his chest.  
  
"I saw Loki today. In your tower, Stark. "


	3. Debate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chat with an old friend has Clint thinking.

The argument between Tony and Steve had driven him up the wall as the volume had increased from moderate to ear-splitting , and by the end of his report his skin was crawling and his chest felt tight with frustration.  He’d told them what had happened in concise terms with detail, and shrugged off a suggestion to visit the infirmary for his check-up in favor of returning to his part of the habitat to take a long-desired shower.  Honestly, a taste of the shit that passed for coffee here sounded heavenly as well, as did his bed.

 But he couldn’t get the image of Loki out of his head.  The thinness of his face. The way his hair seemed far too long and yet just right. The swirl of the tattered emerald cloak. The lack of golden helm and leather armor.

 Loki had changed somehow.

 Fragmented memories tinged with blue fluttered through his thoughts, leaving remembered echoes of maniacal laughter that sent shivers down his spine in their wake.  He’d never forget the way it had felt, the icy touch that crawled up his spine and wrapped through every thought, every memory until he’d been completely claimed by something other than himself, left to the mercy of the icy blue.

 Perhaps it was mercy that he didn’t remember everything that had occurred while under the Asgardian’s control, though a part of him knew it was more the staff that had controlled him than Loki himself.  

 Loki had used the staff, certainly. As a weapon. As a tool. He remembered pained expressions on the would-be god’s face and orders that felt more like compulsion than requests.  He even remembered the feel of hot blood on his fingertips.

 But mostly he remembered the sounds. The endless whispering of words hammering at his will that  twisted him into the efficient killer needed. He’d given Loki everything and gotten emptiness and aching in return.

 But even then, Loki’s eyes had burned with an inner fire. Mischief and mayhem and chaos had been at his beck and call and he’d used them all without holding himself back except when it was beneficial.

 He’d almost have respected him if he didn’t loathe him so very much.

 But the Loki he’d seen earlier had been different. His eyes had been filled with ice, his words venomous if teasing. There had been confidence in his stride, and the man had wanted to be found. Yet he had looked...worn out. Dirty, even.  

 It was easier to go over the details when not directly faced by the dangerous man. Easier to remember how the edges of the once-glorious cloak had  been torn and worn threadbare. Easier to remember how the man’s voice had sounded almost hoarse with disuse.

 Loki hadn’t chased after him, and that was even more of a concern than the man having been there in the first place.

 What was it that Loki wanted? Why Stark Tower, of all places? The place of his defeat.

 How in the hell had the Asgardian gotten free in the first place and what was he doing here?

 Questions kept pouring through his thoughts, filing his head with dizzying half-memories that had him almost nauseous, and he dismissed them with a conscious gesture, dipping his head under the stream of water that had long since gone cold before he turned it off.

 Clint felt marginally more alive now that he was clean and dressed in something that didn’t smell of ash and smoke and death. His weapons were clean and stowed neatly  in the narrow cabinet that served as his closet, and then he pulled on a jacket before exiting his room, the door locking behind him. A decent meal and a visit to the labs would do him good.

 He was met with the usual smattering of salutes that made him feel uncomfortable as well as quiet, awed glances from civilians as he passed them by.  He tried not to look them in the eye. Any one of them could become a Spidder in the wrong circumstances. It’s easier to kill one if you didn’t know who they were before.

 Too many friends had been lost to the infestation. Too many allies. Even too many enemies.  The enemy had won a year ago. Now, humans only strived for survival. Or at least, that’s what they appeared to do.  

 Stark had some sort of plan, he was sure. The man  always had a plan, whether it was some half-formed cockamamie craziness or some meticulously thought out plan that would marvel even Rogers.  

 The man he called ‘Captain’ no longer wore blue. He wore dusty charcoal and black, the utilitarian sort of uniform that blended in with the upper world when necessary.  The uniform he’d worn during the Incident hung in the central commons, enshrined along with a sleek black belt with a scarlet design in the center, an eyepatch, and a scrap of scarlet cloak.  

 ‘Captain America’ had died the day the quinjet exploded and taken with it others dedicated to the survival of humanity.  

 Everyone lost someone.  Rogers lost himself.

 Clint shook his head. This wasn’t the time to get sidetracked. All he wanted was a hot cup of coffee, or some reasonable facsimile, and something to eat, and then he’d drop into the labs to speak with a friend.

 A quick jog took him down the narrow corridor and through the commons area to the cafeteria.  Twenty minutes later, after a  hearty sandwich on a thick, crusty bread, he made his way down a set of metal stairs, mug of coffee in one hand, hot tea in the other.

 He gave a nudge to an access panel with his elbow, and after a quick eye-scan, the door to the laboratory slid open, and he’s met with the sound of quiet jazz and chocolate brown eyes set below messy curly hair.

 Bruce Banner greeted him with a quiet sort of smile, and when Clint passed over the mug of steaming tea, the smile turned into one of gratitude.  

 “Been a while. Started to wonder if you’d make it back this time.”

 The tone was calm, almost neutral, and Clint couldn’t help the little shrug he gave in return.  “Last bit was a little sketchy.  Could have come back in pieces, but here I am, whole as I was last time you saw me.”   He sipped at the coffee and grimaced at the bitter taste of it before cupping the mug in his hands, revelling in the almost scalding heat it gave off.  He’d had enough of being cold lately.

 “Not quite as whole.  You’re thinner, and looks like you caught yourself on a rope or worse.  Any cuts to worry about? You seem shaken.”

 Bruce moved around his laboratory easily, seeming to not pay attention to Clint at all, but Clint knew better.  The man noticed a great deal more than most gave him credit for.  A flash of green flickered across his memory, nudging out the icy blue, and his fingers tightened reflexively against the smooth surface of the mug he held.

 “A few bruises. No cuts this time. There’s less activity on the surface.” He hesitated, sipping his coffee again.  He almost didn’t taste the stuff this time.  

 “Mhmm. And Loki?”

 Clint’s brows furrowed. “You heard, then.”

 “I keep an ear on the conference room. Usually on mute, but I asked Jarvis to flag certain words for me.  Loki’s always on that list, as is any Asgardian, really.”

 Clint’s shoulders tensed, and his lips tightened into a thin line.  “I don’t know how he got here,” he muttered under his breath, glaring down into the near-black liquid of the coffee in his mug.  “He shouldn’t be here. He’s supposed to be in some pit of hell wherever Thor’s father decided to drop him.”

 Bruce exhaled softly, and Clint looked up at him and then dropped his gaze apologetically, his shoulders slumping as he forced himself to relax.  

“There are a few things that can get through the Net, Clint. Certain types of radiation.  Not all sunlight’s been blocked, or you wouldn’t be able to see at all up top. So some small particles can get through. I’ve been researching it with Tony, but...he’s been distracted by another project.”   Bruce paused, and his fingers traced over a bit of paper before he scribbled on  another one next to it.    “If he’s here, then there are two possibilities, neither of which you’ll like, but one of which is potentially a good thing.”

 Clint kept silent, his eyes darkening as he continued to eye the liquid in the bottom of his mug before returning his gaze to where Bruce was standing.

 “The first possibility, and the one nobody likes, is that he managed to escape Asgard before the net went up.” Bruce was moving to a set of displays now, flickering through a few readings before pulling up a display of Earth, showing the filaments surrounding it like a hazy cloud. “The second, and less likely, though it’s the one I’m hoping for, is that he found some way through the net.”

 Clint raised a brow.  “Why would you hope for that?”

 Bruce shrugged and offered him a small smile. “Because if he got through, then there’s a way to get out. If not a whole person, then at least some kind of signal to the outside. For whoever might be listening.  Asgard, maybe.”

 Clint frowned at that.  There wasn’t going to be any help from Asgard. Not after the explosion. He could still hear Thor’s shout over the comm unit, the way Fury cursed under his breath, and Natasha’s call of his name.  They plagued his memory almost as much as the icy blue did.   He shook himself, and met Bruce’s gaze before looking away, drinking down another long swig of the coffee in his mug.  A part of him wished it was something significantly stronger than coffee.

 “The question, though, is why Loki would seek you out. If he’s here, he’s bound to have a reason.  He didn’t attack you?”

 Clint shook his head, thumb rubbing against the rim of his mug. “No. He seemed to think I would have noticed his presence a great deal sooner than I did.  But it isn’t like he’s been flashy. No theatrical explosions or alien armies this time. He didn’t even have the horns this time. Just a cloak and his clothes. No armor. No weapon.”    Clint paused.  “It seemed like he’d been here a while.”

 Bruce was quiet for a long moment before he lifted his mug of cooled tea and drank it slowly. “Then there’s a reason he’s chosen  now. Something must have changed.”

 Clint shivered and drank down the rest of his coffee before exhaling quietly. “That’s the part that bothers me. I feel like I should have noticed something, but there’s been no evidence of him being here until today. No unexplained deaths, no bodies. Nothing. It’s…”  He couldn’t find the words.

 “Eerie? Bizarre?”

 Clint shook his head. “Maybe. Just….strange.”

 “Did he say anything else?”

 “Didn’t really give him the chance. I saw an opportunity to get the hell out of there, and I did.”  Clint’s tone was harsher than it needed to be, he knew, and he regretted the sharpness of it as soon as the words left his mouth.  His lips tightened into a thin line, and he shook his head.  “I need to clear my head.  Sorry.”

 Bruce smiled slightly. “You’re allowed to feel, Clint. Loki is...was...bad news.  We don’t know what he’s up to or why he’s here, though the fact that he isn’t attacking us is a good sign, I suppose.”

 “That, or he’s got some trick up his sleeve.  He always does.”

 Bruce was quiet for a long moment. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

 Clint grimaced, but he nodded.  Waiting wasn’t his strongest point.  “Yeah.   I’ll see you later. I’m going to try to catch a few hours of sleep.”

Bruce was already focused back on the papers strewn over the table, but he nodded and waved a hand absently as Clint departed.

 The thought that Loki wanted something bothered Clint all the way back to his quarters. The mug that had held his coffee sat on the side table as he sank onto the hard cushion of his mattress, staring up at the bare ceiling.

 What did Loki want from him?

 

 


End file.
